


Hey Kid, You've Got Potential

by merriman



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: AU: What If?, Don't copy to another site, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merriman/pseuds/merriman
Summary: What if Richie didn't stick around in Seacouver? What if he never broke into MacLeod's Antiques? What if he broke into the house of a certain Immortal thief instead?
Relationships: Amanda Darieux & Richie Ryan
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54
Collections: Highlander Secret Santa (ShortCuts) 2019





	Hey Kid, You've Got Potential

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wreath_of_Laurels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wreath_of_Laurels/gifts).



> Thank you to my trusty betas.

1992 - San Francisco

There were three houses worth looking at in the neighborhood Richie had been casing. He'd assumed it would have had more, but no, just the three. And then one of them had a dog and the other had a security system installed the day he'd been planning on hitting it, so lucky number three it was. The owner had gone out for the evening, all dressed up for some event. He'd have to do without the rubies she'd been wearing, but if what he'd seen was correct, there was more where that came from.

Getting in wasn't too hard. He'd been scaling walls since he was in grade school. It was easy to pop a window most folks figured was too high up to reach. Richie had just gotten his bearings in the dark and started down the hall to the master bedroom when he heard something. He turned and saw a vague outline of someone in the shadows at the end of the hall. Shit.

"Tsk," a woman's voice said. "What a shame. You're really not living up to your potential."

The woman flipped the lights on and Richie saw the house's owner, rubies nowhere to be seen, gown swapped out for midnight blue pants and turtleneck. She was holding a gun and motioned for Richie to walk forward.

"My name is Amanda," she told him. "And if you're going to steal from someone, it's always a good idea to make sure they're not a better thief than you."

1995 - Seacouver

It was four in the morning and Richie was sure the place was empty. The owner had left around two and the manager and other staff had left an hour later. The lights were off, the doors were closed, and in the two weeks Richie had cased the place, no one had come in to get ready for the day before 10 in the morning. He had plenty of time to get in there and get out.

The locks weren't much trouble and the alarm system was a joke. It was ancient, for one, so he'd had plenty of time to brush up on how to crack it, and also it had a short that was easy to exploit. Once inside it was just a matter of getting into the back office. The lock on that door was a little better. It was newer - probably installed within the past year - and Richie had only practiced on one like it a few times. Even still, the new lock only kept him out for a couple of extra minutes. 

One great thing about a building like this was the lack of windows. Richie wasn't nearly foolish enough to turn on the lights, but he did dare to pull out a flashlight and look around for the cabinet he wanted. It had to be back here. Every night he'd come in, he'd watched the owner closely. If he played, he'd come back here, then come back out with a guitar Richie was sure was worth at least a few grand. Small potatoes compared to what Amanda lifted on a regular basis, but a hell of a lot less likely to get multiple federal agencies on his ass. And besides, he had a buyer already interested, so that meant he didn't even have to worry about fencing it. 

Richie looked around, checking the desk on the off chance that he might luck out and find the keys to whatever the guitar was stored in. The owner definitely hadn't taken it with him when he left, and neither had any of the other staff or band, so he was for sure keeping it at the bar. But no, the keys weren't there. All he found were invoices and some old books in a locked drawer. Richie considered taking them, but the antique book business was pretty specialized and he didn't have any contacts. Maybe Amanda knew someone? But no, then he'd have to explain that he'd broken into a bar, of all places, and that was just more effort than he wanted to expend. 

The rest of the back office was pretty standard: Filing cabinets, paperwork, an assortment of pens with the names of various beer brands on them. Richie grabbed a couple of the pens, just for laughs, then turned his attention to a big metal closet at the back of the room. It had two locks, so that was promising.

Picking locks was something Richie prided himself on these days. Sure, the office door lock had been tricky, but he'd got there, and he was confident he'd be able to get through these ones too. The first one wasn't too bad, but the second was harder. Richie propped his flashlight on his shoulder while he worked, trying to keep it focused on the lock even though really, he had to do it by feel. Amanda had insisted he practice blindfolded and sometimes he was sure she was messing with him, but no, it had been a good idea after all. The second lock popped open after a little finessing and Richie looked inside the cabinet to see not one, not two, but three guitars. 

"Well damn," he breathed. "Jackpot."

He was just taking the first one out to look in the case when he felt it. Another Immortal. Who the hell was around here? He'd thought the city was pretty clear of anyone who might give him a hard time, and after all, the sun wasn't even up yet! Who was creeping around near the bar? Richie quickly thought through the bar's exits and decided on the fire exit at the end of the hall. Who cared if he set off the fire alarm? He'd be gone with at least one guitar and whoever else was nearby would either take off too or risk getting caught by the police and blamed for the break-in. Perfect, really.

Except when Richie went to open the office door, he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Who the hell are you?" a voice asked.

"Oh, ah, hey!" Richie said, raising his free hand and taking half a step back into the office. "I'm just… Just leaving! I was just leaving. It's cool. I got drunk earlier, passed out, they must have locked me in!"

The holder of the gun didn't respond right away but Richie could feel it in his gut that he wasn't buying it. That whoever this was, he was not about to just let it go.

"Well. That's not even a good lie," the voice said finally. "Points for the attempt, and for doing so on the spot, but really, when was the last time you actually got so drunk you passed out? Are you truly that young?"

Richie groaned. He was going to get shot and lose his head and the guitars would probably get trashed and he didn't even know who this guy was.

"Yeah, I kind of am," he admitted. "I'm 22. For real, 22. Died a year ago. My teacher's name is Amanda, I can give you her number or something…"

Richie heard the other man feel for the light switch, then winced as the lights came on. The man holding the gun was lanky, pale, with short dark hair and an impressive nose. He still had the gun pointed at Richie, but now he was laughing. That? That was unexpected.

"Amanda? What last name is she using these days? Darrieux? Montrose? LeFauve? Dupres?" he asked Richie. "Last I saw her it was Deveraux but it's been a while. Hang on."

Without lowering the gun or even wavering for the slightest second, the man had a cellular phone out and was punching in a number, his eyes still on Richie.

"You're not calling the cops, are you?" Richie asked. But no, it definitely wasn't 911 the man was dialing. He had a bad feeling that this was going to be worse than the cops.

"Amanda?" the man said after a moment. "Amanda, stop. Amanda. Well I'm so very sorry I've interrupted you mid-manicure but I've just run into a student of yours." He shifted the phone. "What's your name?"

"Richie Ryan," Richie sighed. 

"Richie Ryan," the man said. "So he is one of yours? I thought you didn't take students these days? Huh. I see. Well, I did catch him breaking and entering," he continued. "No, not my place. I don't keep anything worth stealing at my place. He was breaking into a friend's bar."

Well. That was it. He'd never hear the end of it. This would be fodder every time he saw her from now on. That time he tried to rob a bar and got caught by a friend of his teacher's. It was funny, to an extent, he supposed.

The man had lowered the gun now and was going behind the desk to take a seat and put his feet up while he chatted with Amanda. But when Richie went to try and slip out the gun was back up immediately.

"Richie, no, please do stay," the man said. "I'll keep him out of too much trouble," he said to Amanda before ending the call and setting the phone on the desk. "I've agreed to keep an eye on you in return for a future favor from your charming teacher," he said. "You can call me Adam. Now, let's put that guitar back, lock everything up nice and tight, and I'll tell my dear friend Joe that you're a friend of mine. In exchange for not being a pain in my ass, I'll tell you a story about Amanda you can use to get her off your case about this. Sound good?"

Richie considered his options. Right now they consisted of trying to run and likely getting shot, or putting the guitar back and maybe getting some good dirt on Amanda. That was an easy choice. "Sure," he said. "Sounds great."


End file.
